


Punitive Damages

by loveinadoorway



Category: White Collar
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-09
Updated: 2012-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-29 06:34:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/316801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveinadoorway/pseuds/loveinadoorway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Title: Punitive Damages<br/>Pairing/characters: Neal, Peter<br/>Genre: gen<br/>Rating: PG-13<br/>Word count: 312<br/>Warnings: none<br/>Spoilers: none<br/>Disclaimers: Just borrowed. Borrowed with love.<br/>Summary: comment_ficprompt by nevcolleil: White Collar, Neal, The life of a thief and a conman isn't always glamorous (sometimes it's downright gritty)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Punitive Damages

Neal eyed his hands with distaste. Under normal circumstances, they were his pride and joy. Immaculately groomed, his deft fingers had always made sure the con would pan out precisely as planned, whether by executing the perfect lift or the perfect forgery.

Right now, though, there was some sooty grit under his nails, his cuticles were a mess and the entire Caffrey smelled like a giant Chicken McNugget, as he crept down the basement stairs on his mission to put another gold star on Peter’s chest.

Now that, more than anything else, was what added insult to injury.  
Neal was pragmatic, by and large. For his own gain, the side effects would have been bearable, to be washed down by a nice vintage of Bordeaux, to be laughed off as he counted the money, appraised the gems or perused the work of art now in his possession because of what his person had had to endure.

Being sent home to wash the stink of the fast food restaurant from his hair and every pore of his body after – if he was lucky – a half mumbled “nice work, Caffrey”… No, that did not sit well with Neal at all.

So, who could blame the man, REALLY, for pocketing just one tiny, unimportant little 4 carat diamond in the mayhem that ensued after the thieves rushed into the FBI’s welcoming arms after drilling their way into the vault from behind the burger freezer?

After all, Neal had only stretched out his leg and tripped up one man, just trying to do his duty as an FBI consultant in making sure the bad guys wouldn’t get away. Wasn’t his fault the guy dropped the bag with the loot, spilling glittering goodies all over.

He smiled as he walked away to get a much needed manicure, deft, grimy fingers toying with the stone in his pocket.


End file.
